After dinner, when the sun was finally dipping low in the sky, Fort did an initial drive by Mrs. Z's, which had yielded very little. Some footprints, large like men’s, and the occasional cigarette butt. No bottles of any sort, and unless the teens came out to the tracks to smoke, none of it made any sense. Wolf Creek's teens liked bonfires, cheap beer, and cow tipping. Very few smoked; instead, they preferred to chew tobacco. Something about the scene felt off.

When his shift ended at midnight, he did a second pass with hopes of catching the rowdy teens. Maybe they could provide a clue to the missing cattle. But his stakeout yielded nothing except more questions and time alone with his frustration of the town and the make-believe girl. It irked him that they, the townsfolk, didn't see him putting down roots. And since when did being private mean the same as being a flight risk?

After a two-hour wait, Fort left Mrs. Z's for home and much needed sleep. He had ranch work to do, and dawn was quickly approaching. Once he was home, he fell into bed, slept a solid four hours, and started the new day. More of the same. At least he didn’t work for the county tonight, though he still planned on driving out to Mrs. Z's again to see if he missed anything.

First there were livestock to feed, salt blocks to replace, wells to check, and he was anxious to hear from the ranch's foreman, George Rockman, if any more cows were missing. Paul and Matias hadn't found a trace of anything amiss. Heck, the only way they knew a cow was missing was when they went out to tag the new heads with the GPS locator and found they were one short.

When, later that day, word came back that the numbers hadn't changed, no more lost heads, it didn't make the discomfort in his gut go away, but it had eased up some. Every animal on the ranch had a purpose, and a loss or injury to one had a greater impact on the ranch's bottom dollar than most people thought.

Since his family and George were out checking the rest of the herds, Fort did the run to the feed store, making a pass by Mrs. Z's. He still didn’t find an answer to his question: who had come out and why? Maybe the answer was nothing of consequence and he was wasting his time on this, but his gut told him otherwise. He needed answers.

He drove up to Mrs. Z's house and found her sitting on the porch, cleaning her rifle.

“Something I should know?” he asked after getting out of the truck then slamming the door.

Her hair was in curlers, and a purple scarf tied around her head matched her cowboy boots. “Not really. Couple nights ago, I lost a heifer. Think it might be a mountain lion. Thought I'd ride the perimeter and check the fence line.”

Fort came to her porch and rested one boot on the step, his hands in his pocket. “I lost one, too. Was thinking the same thing. Your foreman find the carcass?”

“Not yet. I'm hoping to come across it today. Hopefully sooner rather than later as I've got bingo tonight.” She adjusted her scarf, then checked her reflection in the silver plate on the rifle's stock.

“We haven't found ours yet so don't get your hopes up.”

“Well, aren't you full of sunshine today?” She set the rifle aside and packed up the cleaning kit.

“Yep,” he said with a chuckle. “And as for the tracks and those kids. Nothing. I sat out here last night, but no one came by. If you hear them again, call me directly, and I'll be out fast as I can.” He handed her his deputy card.

She stuck it in her shirt pocket. “Will do.” She stared at him, her lips pursed, as if she was trying to figure him out.

Fort shifted his feet, moving the opposite one to rest on her porch step.

“Something bothering you, Fortune? You look like a man trying to solve a complex problem. You've got forehead creases, and they aren't going away, even when you laugh.”

Fort looked at the ground and sighed. “Nothing in particular bothering me. Normal stuff, mountain lions, the upcoming auction, getting the herd tagged, and the dry grass.”

Mrs. Z snorted. “It's awful, right. I'd come out here and dance naked if I thought it would help with making it rain.”

They shared a laugh.

“I'm headed to the feed store. You need anything?”

“Of course, I do,” she said, her smile large. “I have a weekly supply pickup. It's waiting there for me. I'll call ahead and tell them you're picking it up. This is a huge help. Thanks, Fort.”

“No problem. I can help out anytime. I get a weekly supply as well and can grab yours when I get ours if you'd like.”

Mrs. Z clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh, bless you. With Earl gone, my workload has doubled. I feel as if cattle are slipping through my fingers.” She stared over his shoulder at the mountains, looking lost in thought. “So much to keep track of.”

Fort's gut clenched. A sure sign that something wasn't adding up. “You missing more than the cow you mentioned earlier?”

She jerked, as if his words had knocked her from her reverie. “Not this week. But it seems I'm always one or two down each week. My herd is much smaller these days, easier for me to manage, but at this rate I'll be herd-less by the end of the year.”

“That's a rate I wouldn't be happy with either. You know the cause?” Did he have something here? Was something happening under their noses?

Mrs. Z forehead puckered as she confessed, “I'm to blame. I've had some fence lines down that I took too long to fix. A mountain lion for another. Nothing unusual if you're asking. Just feels like it’s gonna be one of those bad luck years. Know what I mean?”

Fort nodded. Indeed, he did. Instinct was telling him the same thing. That something was off, and it frustrated him he couldn’t figure it out. “I'll be headed over to the feed store then. Be back in a few hours. If you come across any more missing head, will you let me know?” He started to turn away, but paused.

“You think there might be something to it?”

Fort lifted a hand, palm up, to indicate his uncertainty. “Hard to say, but mostly I'm just being cautious. I want to make sure there is nothing to it.”

“Will do,” she said.

With a wave, he was off and headed to the feed store, his mind going over what she’d said. He hoped the store would be busy. All those old ranchers together were just as bad as gossiping women in a quilting circle, and he might get some good information. Maybe others were experiencing the same as him and Mrs. Z. Unexplained missing cows were just that. Unexplained. They could assume all they wanted.

Luck was on his side. The store was packed. Mr. Phillips, one of the Vietnam veterans, was the loudest, spouting his latest angst against the Bureau of Land Management and Oprah Winfrey. Why the latter was anyone's guess. Phillips was the saltiest of ranchers. His skin was weathered due to endless years under the sun, his voice scratchy from years of smoking, an unlit cigarillo clamped between his teeth every waking moment, like now. He wasn't a man who kept his thoughts to himself and had an opinion about every single stinking thing. It often amazed Fort that he had the energy to do so. He started most sentences with “listen here” or “as I see it.”

Fort mingled and chatted and kept his ears open. He was settling his tab at the front when he became part of Mr. Phillips rantings.

“Listen here,” Mr. Phillips said and whacked Fort on the back. “I hear Deke Sutton is ready to file to run for sheriff. I hear he's the only one. Why do you reckon that is?”

Fort leaned against the counter. “Filing doesn't start for three more days. Maybe others are keeping their intentions a secret until then.” A plan he'd considered himself.

Phillips grunted his skepticism. “Nah, ain't nobody here that can keep a secret, and ain't nobody interested in it except Deke and maybe you. What do you say? You thinking of running?”

Fort scratched his chin and considered his words. It would seem the town was interested in him running. Even if they thought he wouldn't win.

Phillips didn't give him a chance to respond. “As I see it, you ain't got a chance in Hades. Not that folks don't like you. But we'd like you to try. Mostly because we want to see what you'd do after you lose. Split maybe? Can't see you working for Deke.”

Fort tossed up his hands. “Why would I split? My family's ranch is here. I live here.” The short-sightedness of the community baffled him. Did it really take having a girl to show he was committed to the community? To him, that was straight up bullshit.

Phillips moved his cigarillo from one side of his mouth to the other. “Yep, true. But as I see it, you got this gal in Texas that none of us know anything about, and if you lose this election, maybe you'll want to go live there with her. The pull of a siren woman is serious. Hard to resist. I've been there.” He started poking Fort in the chest. “You may be tied to your Ma's ranch but it's your Ma's still. Not yours, and this gal, maybe she don't like small towns. Yep, Deke's a shoo-in.” He ended his words with a final poke.

“I agree,” said Burt, the feed store owner. “Not that I think he's the best candidate, but he might be the steadiest candidate.” A few others in the crowd nodded their agreement.

Fort kicked the toe of his boot against the ground in frustration. The entire town was comprised of fools, and clearly, he was one of them. Maybe he should leave and start over someplace where people were sane.

Stupid town. If he didn't love it so much…

Fort lifted his hand in the air to get the men's attention. “For what it’s worth, I love this fool-headed town and all the nut jobs in it.” He looked at Mr. Phillips. “Those eight years in the navy—”

“As I see it, you didn't even stick that out,” Phillips said.

“Neither did you,” Fort retorted.

Phillips straightened up. “Listen here, son, I was called up—”

“And I volunteered. Let's not fight over our time. We served, and it was an honor to do so. I appreciate what you gave this country Mr. Phillips.” Fort placed a hand on Phillips’ shoulder. The older man nodded and pressed his lips together, a sign that the old man's ire had receded. Fort continued, “This is my home. I love these cows, even those troublesome wild horses. I'd rather deal with the damage they're doing to the land than be away from here.” He gestured to the land outside the large front store window.

“Sounds like someone is running for Sheriff,” Bucky Wise said from the back of the crowd.

“I'd vote for ya, Fort, if you were settled,” Burt said. “I'm not one for change, and I'd hate to vote for you only to have you run off. Know what I mean?”

Fort nodded. He did. Mrs. Z had explained it well the day before.

“We're ready to load you out back, Fort,” Burt's son, Colt, said.

“Thanks, Burt. That's high praise.” He gave Phillips another pat on the back and extracted himself from the crowd who were still talking about his merits as sheriff.

After his truck was loaded with both his and Mrs. Z's supplies, he drove away from the store, his mind heavy with questions. He simply needed to admit to himself he wanted to run. Being the town's sheriff appealed to him on a level deeper than he expected. With it would come an acceptance he'd never experience but longed for. A respect he was working hard to garner.

When the idea of hiring a girlfriend had first popped into his mind, he'd discarded it. Yet, it kept circling back. He made a mental list of the pros and cons, but quickly lost track of the cons since the pros of becoming sheriff and building that career were looking pretty damn good.

The stakes were high. No doubt. But maybe, just maybe, if the townspeople saw another side to him, they'd warm up to the idea of him running. He wasn't saying he needed to get married. He was only going to show them a softer Fort.